To Jesus...

Image credit: jesustrek.live

THERE ARE NO WORDS

To Jesus

Sometimes, there are no words—

I come before You, Lord, with adoration

filled with a strong desire to express my love

but all the words that come to mind

seem over-used and feeble

and cannot convey what I long to say

I’m a poet, a wordsmith

with adjectives a-plenty, and

dictionaries, thesauruses, lexicons

close at hand, but

today I yearn to bless You afresh

with eloquence, depth and originality

I want it to be profound

something You’ve never heard before

however, I find there are no words

none to express the inexpressible

so I empty myself of words

and call upon Your Spirit

Sounds begin to tumble off my tongue

and through my lips

I trust a perfect utterance

rises like incense to Your throne

that is pleasing to Your ears

then I simply sit awhile

awestruck in silence

arms lifted heavenward

and let my beating heart speak

the unspeakable

content that You know

how much I love You, Lord

Maude Carolan Pych

Ocean Grove, NJ

Tent Houses, Ocean Grove, NJ
Photo by Maude

Ocean Grove Beach
Photo was taken by Maude in 2014

OCEAN GROVE

Ocean Grove—

This tiny Christian community

comes to life in the summertime

Methodist. Camp Meeting.

Boxy tent houses

with colorful flower gardens

American flags and banners

surround The Great Auditorium

with its lighted Cross

facing the ocean

It’s just a mile square

Quiet. Subtle.

Not in-your-face-religion

although

church bell chimes

do break the quietude now and then

with a gentle reminder

and there’s a pavilion

on the boardwalk

where Gospel events take place

Folks can walk-in or walk by

and there’s a tabernacle

for morning worship

and solid Bible teaching

but it’s optional

Personally, the spiritual amenities

are what draw me

to this particular place

at the Jersey shore

What’s surprising

is that many vacationers come

not for the Bible Hour

not for the concerts

not to hear great preachers

from all over the world

not to worship in the great old edifice

with its magnificent pipe organ

not to sing hymns of antiquity

in fact, they come

not for the Gospel, at all

but for peace and quiet

for one square mile

of no hawking of tee shirts

and games of chance

roller coasters, carousels

freak shows and body piercing

in fact, there’s nothing for sale

on the boardwalk

and no alcohol for sale

in the grove

No, they come

for a sandy beach

and ocean spray

quaint Victorians, B & Bs

curiosity shops on Main

and shady sidewalk dining

oh! and ice cream at Nagle’s or Day’s

and they know they can rely upon

good old fashioned

Ocean Grove wholesomeness

and Christian acceptance

even if they’re not necessarily

seeking the Christ of Christianity

…and to my way of thinking

miss out on the Best

this precious little gem

has to offer

Maude Carolan Pych

Teenage Mothers

Years ago, my husband and I provided room in our home
for unwed mothers...

Photo credit: crochet-kingdom.com

BLUE BOOTIES[1]

I came across a pair of blue baby booties

Funny how the mind holds on to things

then whisked me through decades

back to when I was in the hospital

maternity unit labor room, coaching

my foster daughter, Lisa, in Lamaze

because her boyfriend’s mother

wouldn’t allow him to be with her

when the time came

for their baby to be born

When the doctor arrived

to examine her, I stepped out of the room

A nurse approached me in the hallway

to say there was another teenager

in active labor in the next room

She was overwrought and afraid

Would I sit with her a while

LaShanda was alone, struggling

to bear the labor pains

crying and truly terrified

I can’t remember what I said

to calm her, but do recall

my being there had a quieting effect

We engaged in small talk

between her contractions

She told me her mother had to work

and couldn’t be at her side

Taking hold of her hand

I offered to say a prayer for LaShanda

and her baby. She agreed

so I softly lifted them up to God

for a safe delivery

and a healthy baby

and peace

then I wished her well

and returned to Lisa

who gave birth to a son

a few hours later

In a few days

when both girls were preparing

to go home with their newborns

LaShanda appeared in Lisa’s doorway

She smiled as she handed Lisa

a pair of little blue booties—

These are for your Joey, she said

My mother crocheted them

for him, last night

We are so grateful

for the labor room visit

and the prayer

Maude Carolan Pych

[1] The story in this poem is true, but the names of the girls have been changed.

Here's a Summertime Poem...

Photo credit: wired.com

SKY DANCERS

There's something happy about butterflies.

They flit-flitter as they flutter by,

flying flowers against the azure sky.

They alight upon the milkweed, and then

they circle, soar and alight again,

toe-dancing on pink petals in the glen.

Ever dwelling in hue and sweet fragrance,

in garden splendor they flicker as they dance.

Pollination is purely happenstance.

I delight in their overflow of joy.

(They wouldn't even know how to be coy.)

A flame of mirth! A whirligig! A toy!

Do they recall they once were grubby worms,

remember well their dark and squiggly squirms?

Reborn, now grace and beauty each affirms!

This almost seems to be sheer fantasy,

sky dancers as enchanting as can be,

springing from blossoms right in front of me!

So, merrily a-nectaring they go,

reaping and sowing sweetness in day-glow…

Seems they have learned what all of us should know.

In contemplation of their simple ways,

I wish to add their ballet to my days,

to sky dance Heavenward on wings of praise!

Maude Carolan Pych